Lonely Day
by Spoongirl1
Summary: [Hangman's Curse] If you can't face your problems, then run from them. But what happens if you run so far that you gain a whole new set of problems in the process? Ian Snyder's about to find out... [Formerly Paranoia 101]
1. Disclaimer and Author's Note

_A Vague Disclaimer and Apology_

Dear Readers,

I am sorry for not updating this fic in a while, even though I know it is one of the few active Hangman's Curse fics on the site. Unfortunately, the sad truth is, I was getting rather bored with the plot and some of my characters were beginning to move in directions that I did not want them to go in. So, I abandoned the fic and hoped that maybe one day, my muses would strike again.

That is why I am bringing to you, this newest version of Paranoia 101. It is going to be significantly different from the original (hence, the title change), but will still feature some of your favourite OC's and of course, the wonderful Ian Snyder.

I hope that you will take the time to read this new incarnation and maybe review, if you haven't given up all hope on me.

Cheers,

Spoongirl

* * *

_Disclaimer_

I do not own Ian Snyder or any other characters from the _VERITAS Project_ novels. They belong to Frank Peretti, the author. My OC's are of my creation and I make no money from this fanfiction.


	2. Chapter 1

Ian lay on his back, his unfocused gaze fixed on the grey cement ceiling of his basement room. Above him he could hear his parent's feet treading heavily across the floorboards, accompanied by screaming and the occasional shattering of glass, as his mom threw some little knick-knack at his father.

Ian closed his eyes and then leaned over and turned up the volume on his stereo, so the pounding sounds of CKY drowned out the yelling. He knew that soon enough, his parents would hear the music and remember he existed and then probably turn their harsh words on him, instead of each other, but at the moment he really didn't care.

He'd spent the last six months in a void, not feeling anything, walking around like a zombie from one of the horror films whose posters decorated his walls. Crystal was dead, the Springfield's were gone and the jocks were back to tormenting him again. He'd even lost the small group of friends that he used to hang out with. They'd stopped hanging out with him after it was revealed that he held no power and controlled no ghost. He knew that even though they'd never said it aloud, they also blamed him for Crystal's death. And in a way, he blamed himself too.

Sometimes, he thought it might be easier if he'd died too. He'd even gotten to the point where he'd wound up in his bathroom, holding a steak knife to his wrist. But even though he'd dug deep gouges in his flesh and had had to spend several days wearing long sleeves to cover the bandages, he hadn't ever been able to slice down through to the main vein that would end it all.

A loud bang on the door interrupted Ian's melancholy thoughts and his eyes flew open. A quick glance at the clock revealed that he had been lying on his bed for almost two hours now. The CD had ended and the room was now silent and dark, as the sun had disappeared, replaced by the full moon.

A muffled shout accompanied another bang on the door and Ian sat up quickly, his bare toes curling against the cold of the concrete floor. Throwing on the t-shirt that he'd discarded when he'd first entered the room, he almost ran to his closet and yanked out his dad's old army duffel bag.

With quick, jerky movements he ripped most of his clothes off their hangers and stuffed them in the bag, following them with more handfuls of clothes pulled from his dresser.

His heart thumped wildly in his chest and his pulse raced, but he couldn't slow down. He'd been thinking about this for months now, just packing up all his stuff and leaving. Actually, it had been he and Crystal's plan; they had been talking about it for years, but were going to wait until she was eighteen to do it. Ian had almost forgotten about it after she died, but he'd kept adding to the savings in his bank account with money from his shitty part-time job, just in case.

The bulkhead door slammed behind him and then he was off and running across his backyard. He threw his bag over the fence and then climbed over, only stopping to scoop up the duffel, before his bots were carrying him across his neighbours backyard and then down the road.

* * *

The skyscrapers of Seattle towered overhead, astonishing Ian with their sheer size. He'd visited the city before, but every time he arrived, he always felt like a country boy with hay behind his ears.

Baker wasn't small by any means, but the size and cultural difference of the bigger city completely dwarfed the town he'd grown up in.

Wandering the streets, Ian decided this was a place he could definitely see himself living. Music of all different genres spilled from open doorways and people dressed in so many different styles of clothing filled the streets.

After a while, his adrenaline rush began to wear off though and he found himself growing more tired and his feet aching more with every block he covered. Stopping to rest, Ian found himself standing in front of a small shop window that was decorated in little red chilli pepper lights, which bathed the street in a reddish glow. Above the window was a black and silver sign that simply read _Kerouac_. The door to the shop opened and a few people exited, bringing the scents of delicious food and warm drinks with them.

Ian shouldered his bag and stepped inside the cafe, letting the wooden door thump shut behind him with a tinkle of bells. The inside of the cafe was painted the same red as the lights and was filled with a collection of overstuffed couches and chairs and even some thick, full-body pillows that were placed in front of tables that looked like they came from all over the world.

A black counter ran along one side of the room, with multiple cake trays set on it, each threatening to send the desserts that were piled high on them tumbling onto the rough wooden floor. A girl with purple hair pulled back into a ponytail was behind the counter, pouring drinks and singing along to Serj Tankian's _Empty Walls_ as it played over the stereo.

Ian set his bag down on the floor and let the warmth of the cafe wash over him as he stood in the doorway. No one seemed to have noticed him yet and he was content to just stand there for the moment and revel in his success.

"Hey, you need a job?"

* * *

_TBC..._


End file.
